


Mr. Snow

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "“Jack is a 317 year old dead kid, stuck in a 17 year old’s body, with a mind of a 13 year old.”The prompt has been stuck in my head for days, but I couldn’t write a fic for it so… Run with it, anons. You may or may not quote this. It could be gen or romantic or sexual; whatever floats your boat. Just toy with the idea and make it work."The quoted sentence seemed so odd and clinical to me that I made this AU where Jack has been captured by Shady Official-Type Persons ™. Also, in this AU, said statement is really, really false.Pitch…helps…him escape. In his Pitchy way.





	Mr. Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr 2/8/2014.

“The subject has been tentatively identified as Jackson Overland, an individual who died in the settlement where Burgess, Pennsylvania would later be founded,” the woman in the lab coat says, looking into the brightly lit room where the youth lies sedated on a hospital bed. He’s not breathing, but despite how much sedative she knows they ended up giving him, she’s not concerned. They had known he hadn’t needed to breathe before they went out to bring him in.  
  
“How was this identification made, Dr. Hoffman?”  
  
A little thrill of fear runs through her at the question, though she has an answer to it, and far more information besides. But to have Mr. Snow—a name he has selected for this project—talking to her, personally…well, it would be enough to unsettle anyone. Not that she knew anything specific. Only that the projects he worked on generally didn’t exist, and tended to be dangerous for the low-level persons involved. But here he was talking to her. Maybe she’d survive now like he always did.  
  
She tells him about death records and weather patterns, a charcoal sketch, the name the subject answers to currently. He seems satisfied, and turns to watch the still form. In the shadowy room on their side of the two-way glass, it’s hard to tell if his expression changes after the observation.  
  
“What’s your initial assessment of the subject? Just a brief overview, please.”  
  
“The subject is an apparently human male, age at death 17 years, current chronological age 317 years, mental age approximately 13 years.”  
  
“How long has he been sedated?”  
  
“Just over twenty-four hours, now.”  
  
Mr. Snow nods. “We’ll need to wake him up eventually.” He pauses, leaning towards the glass ever so slightly, his suit hanging just a bit too loosely from his frame. “But we don’t have the facilities here. You’ll be able to accompany the subject to a contained research facility with your team.” It’s not a question, and Dr. Hoffman swallows nervously. Whatever this project is, it’s clear that she’s not expected to return to her life as she left it this morning. Will she be able to return to any life at all? She has no idea of the endgame here, but the stories she’d heard…  
  
The lights in the observation room and the subject’s room flicker.  
  
“ _Goddammit_.” Dr. Hoffman hears Mr. Snow mutter under his breath.  
  
“So good to see you again, Mr…what is it now? Snow?” The voice seems to come from the darkest corner of the room, and Dr. Hoffman whirls around, searching the shadows for the speaker. She doesn’t find anything until she looks up, and when she does she wishes she hadn’t. She’s just gotten used to the idea of the dead boy in the other room, seven-foot specters with faintly glowing eyes are another thing entirely. The thing steps forward as it continues to speak. “Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for you, I found you—and, more importantly, Jack, before you could do something so foolish as to try and move him.” The thing grins at Mr. Snow and Dr. Hoffman hears herself whimper. She realizes the only reason she’s not running is that she’s sure if she runs the thing can  _get_  her.  
  
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Snow—as does mine, certainly—and by choosing a scientist you knew would be easy to intimidate, you also chose someone who would broadcast your presence like a beacon. Have you really learned so little over the years?” The thing looms over Mr. Snow now, and Dr. Hoffman’s astonished that he’s holding his ground.  
  
“I learned a few things,” he says.  
  
The thing sneers. “Indeed. The sedative for entirely dreamless sleep. It’ll fail with just one touch from me, now that I’ve found him. He may be having nightmares already. And then…he’ll wake up. I’ll be gone by then, of course.”  
  
“You’re not here to help him escape?” Mr. Snow asks.  
  
The thing laughs; Dr. Hoffman flinches and claps her hands over her ears.  
  
“He’ll manage that quite well on his own, I think. And, frankly…I didn’t  _like_  what you did when you called yourself Mr. Gold. So however Jack finds his way out of here…it’s none of my concern.  
  
“Now, doctor.” It fixes its eerie gaze on her and she stars to shiver uncontrollably, too frightened to look away. “What was it you said about Jack? ‘Apparently human male, age at death 17 years, current chronological age 317 years, mental age approximately 13 years’? Wrong,” the thing proclaims, its expression far too delighted for its form, “Wrong on all accounts.”  
  
It glances over her shoulder at the two-way glass. “Oh my,” it says, all false concern, “I think he may be waking already. And my nightmare will have left him quite upset.”  
  
He fades into the shadows at once, and Dr. Hoffman and Mr. Snow turn in tandem to the observation window.  
  
The last clear memory Dr. Hoffman has is of beautiful patterns of frost growing rapidly over the glass, her breath fogging in newly frigid air, and Mr. Snow yanking on her arm to drag her toward the exit.  
  
***  
  
It’s a full year before she gets confirmation that she hadn’t dreamed the version of events that she remembered preceding the destruction of a certain nonexistent facility that had led to her being treated for hypothermia and frostbite in the middle of June. The confirmation is a simple email from a nondescript address, asking her help in a research project.   
  
It’s much like one she’d gotten before. It’s signed by a Mr. Dark.  
  
She deletes it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> emeraldembers reblogged this from gretchensinister and added: ASdfasdfasdafasdfa YES
> 
> Vaguely eldritch beings looking out for each other yesyesyessssss
> 
> (and asdfas THE MR GOLD LINE FROM PITCH ASDFASDFA)
> 
> *
> 
> whentheoceanmetsky reblogged this from gretchensinister and added: I love everything about this and SCP-ish scenarios in general and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m a horrible person or of I just like watching horrible people get their comeuppance from the people they’ve wronged. 
> 
> (I wonder who’ll come to the rescue where Mr Dark is involved…)


End file.
